In photos, as in life, sometimes being out of focus is o.k.

On Saturday afternoon, Scott and I wandered into 140 Maiden Lane – Frank Lloyd Wright‘s sole contribution to San Francisco architecture. We were unaware of the building’s cultural significance when we entered it. We were merely curious if the building’s interior matched its plain yet elegant exterior. We were surprised to find an architectural marvel inside.

Visiting 140 Maiden Lane was a serendipitous detour. I had been leading the way to Britex, my favourite fabric store, when beautiful voices beckoned. We walked along Grant Avenue and turned left onto Maiden Lane, where a tenor and a soprano were performing for passersby. They stood in the middle of the street. As they sang, their operatic voices reverberated off the surrounding buildings. We listened to several arias, and then Scott tipped the buskers as we walked past them towards Britex’s back door. A century ago, if voices beckoned visitors onto Maiden Lane (which used to be called Morton Street), the voices likely would have belonged to prostitutes, and the visitors likely would have been johns. The 1906 earthquake destroyed the Morton Street red-light district. But I digress.

Across the street from Britex, a large “goop MRKT” banner fluttered in the wind above 140 Maiden Lane. “goop MRKT” is a pop-up curation of Gwyneth Paltrow‘s lifestyle brand. Scott told me that he had noticed 140 Maiden Lane before but it had always been closed or vacant. The building’s tall exterior wall of tan brick is relieved by a metal gate hung below a brick arch.

As the gate was open, we walked through the arch into a lovely atrium merchandised with tasteful art, books, and clothing. The space itself seemed to be the main attraction for many of the visitors I observed. A large white circular ramp spirals up from the atrium to a mezzanine like a giant nautilus shell. A drop ceiling features 120 white acrylic domes which conceal the building’s pitched glass roof. A hanging planter floats over the atrium like a verdant flying saucer. A small plaque near the door reads “This structure [is] designated by the American Institute of Architects as one of 17 American buildings designed by Frank Lloyd Wright to be retained as an example of his architectural contribution to American Culture – 1960.” Scott and I peeked behind wooden doors to find hidden offices and a decommissioned dumbwaiter. We opened drawers full of fancy soaps for sale. Eventually, we left and went to Britex.

The next day, I returned to 140 Maiden Lane with a prospective client. We had hit it off while exploring the newly-renovated San Francisco Museum of Modern Art so I was happy to share this discovery with him. He seemed taken with the black walnut built-in furniture and fixtures, so we sat in silent appreciation of our surroundings. Before we left, I asked a clerk to tell us about the building’s history. She told us that gift shop owner V.C. Morris commissioned Frank Lloyd Wright to renovate 140 Maiden Lane in the late 1940’s, and that the circular ramp in the atrium served as a physical proof of concept for the architect’s interior design of the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in New York. She advised us that “goop MRKT” is open at 140 Maiden Lane only until May 22, so there are a few days left to enjoy the space before it closes.

Yesterday, Scott and I spent the day at Griffith Park with my German colleague Wilfried and his Costa Rican wife Ana. This is the amazing sunset we saw as we stood on the observation deck of the Griffith Observatory.

I think that Mother Nature put on a spectacular show to impress Wilfried and Ana, who are new to Los Angeles. Herzlich willkommen, Freunde!

Yesterday, I had lunch with two German colleagues and the conversation shifted to the topic of fungus as Christopher described his brother’s research to me and Eva. At one point, Christopher couldn’t find the word he wanted to say in English, so Eva prompted him in German and he responded in kind. All I heard was “German German German FUNGUS German German”. This happens to me quite often, and not only at work. Earlier this week, I accepted an invitation to Skype with my German friends Julia and Eberhard tomorrow morning. They seem to forget sometimes that I’m not German as I had to run part of their email through Google Translate to understand it.

I took this photo of fungus growing along the Santa Ynez Canyon Trail in Topanga State Park a week before last Christmas. My Canadian friend Lisa inspired the shot as she had once told me that she wanted to capture a wild mushroom’s point of view in a photo. To me, this juicy cluster of Armillaria solidipes resembles a Smurf village, or Schlumpfdorf as my German friends would say!

In the past four months, I have: quit a job; traveled with Scott to Italy, Germany, and France; renewed many friendships; visited Mama Chow in Canada; started a new job; and helped Scott move to Berkeley, where he will be working for the coming year. A major catalyst for this frenetic cycle of good fortune is my mentor, Bob Lank. When I lacked the confidence to leave my job for the unknown, Bob advised me to take a leap of faith. He declared, “Helsa, this year is going to be about betting on yourself.” I heeded his counsel and traveled to Venice, where Scott was attending a conference; I took this photo of the Basilica Cattedrale Patriarcale di San Marco as Scott and I walked to Harry’s Bar for dinner one evening. Bob was assigned to be my mentor during my second year of business school. Over the years, Bob has coached me through several professional and personal transitions. He has become my confidante and my friend. He and his wife were guests at our Chinese wedding banquet; Scott and I have been guests at their Sunday dinners. Now that we live 2,200 miles (3,500 km) apart, it’s difficult for us to meet for dinner but Bob always has a few words of wisdom for me each time I contemplate a job offer or move to a new city.

Sandy Thornton-Trump was a Professor of Mechanical Engineering at my alma mater. I don’t remember how we met. I do remember the hours we spent talking in his office as I transcribed his lectures on Automotive Design, typed his correspondence, and tidied his desk. He was visually impaired, so he needed an extra set of eyes to stay organized at work. Even though he was blind, he could see that I felt a bit lost at the time. He was generous with his sympathy. Before and after I graduated from engineering school, we would meet for lunch at the Faculty Club to gossip and puzzle over the small intrigues of our lives. We shared sorrow and joy: he and his wife helped me to cope with my father’s death; I had the pleasure of meeting their little grandson; they vetted and approved of Scott. The final time I saw Sandy was soon after my honeymoon. Scott’s parents had hosted a reception on their farm to celebrate our marriage but Sandy and his wife had declined to attend. I paid Sandy a visit and sadly found him in ill-health. He passed away three months after our visit.

Ron Vermette was my teacher in Grade 3. Mr. V made learning fun for me. More importantly, he proved that it’s possible to do great work and remain true to oneself: his long hair, Chuck Taylors, Winnipeg Jets jersey, convertible, and proficiency at air guitar were incidental to his talent for opening minds to new ideas. He shook up my eight-year-old reverence for orthodoxy and for that I remain grateful. He taught me how to tie-dye fabric, tool copper, and mold plaster of Paris. I still enjoy getting my hands dirty to learn something new. He used to print math exercises on top of cartoon characters, so that his students could colour in the cartoons as they learned to add and subtract. I still have a collection of booklets that I wrote and illustrated in his class – he had taught me how to sew the pages together. A couple of years ago, I wrote Mr. V and asked him if he had continued to play floor hockey, build reading caves, and make art with his students. He responded to my note and I was happy to learn that after 33 years of teaching, he was still having fun. He still plays floor hockey once a week and he still has a reading cave in his classroom. He still has long hair but has “traded in the hot car for a Jeep“. Mr. V plans to retire next year. Before he retires, I will send him another note.

A couple of weeks ago, Scott met my flight at LAX after I flew “home” from Canada. “Home” has become an abstraction for us and many of our friends. “Home” is not necessarily a house, it’s not where we keep our stuff, and it’s somewhat exclusive of where we pay tax. In the kitchen of our loft in downtown L.A., I’ve hung two photos of the little house we own in Canada. When we first moved to America, I worried about our tenants painting our old bedroom pink. Now, I’m satisfied when our tenants send us a cheque each month. My Canadian brothers-in-law are saints: their basement in Toronto is filled with our belongings. Back in the day, American colonists cried, “No taxation without representation!” to express their resentment over being taxed by the British parliament. We happen to pay tax both in Canada and in America. Although it’s frustrating to pay tax to the Canada Revenue Agency, at least we can vote in Canadian elections. We pay state and federal tax in the U.S., but we don’t have a say in how this money is spent as we aren’t able to vote in American elections. But I digress…

We go “home” to visit family and old friends in the country that issues our passports. And then we go “home” to our spouses or partners in the country where we work and live. If we’re lucky, our spouse will meet our flight and, broken elevator be damned, carry our heavy suitcase up six flights of stairs to the car. I set up my tripod and camera on the roof of the LAX parkade to take this photo of the Theme Building.

Last weekend, I admired this arpillera in Ojai and couldn’t resist taking a photo of it. Now, I wish I had brought it home with me. Arpilleras are three-dimensional appliqué textiles sewn by folk artists in South America. This particular tapestry was created in Peru; it depicts a happy day at the beach. Ironically, the technique originated in Chile as a means for craftswomen to overcome their despair.

Chilean women first created arpilleras to earn much-needed income in the 1970s following Augusto Pinochet’s violent rise to power. Pinochet’s policies encouraged women to embrace domestic life and discouraged them from being politically active. However, Los Desaparecidos (The Disappeared) and the widespread poverty that ensued forced many women to seek employment outside their homes to support their families. Raúl Silva Henríquez, the Archbishop of Santiago, enabled women to run arpilleras workshops in Roman Catholic churches, and facilitated the sale of finished tapestries abroad. This grassroots enterprise evolved into a social movement as the artisans started documenting the harsh realities of their daily lives in the arpilleras they created. Participating in arpilleras workshops empowered women to fight for social justice and political democracy in Chile.

Last night, the L.A. Conservancy’s 24th annual “Last Remaining Seats” film festival kicked off with a screening of “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying” (1967) at the Los Angeles Theatre. Time hasn’t dulled the edge of the satire: the film is based on a mock self-help management book by Shepherd Mead first published in 1952. Robert Morse played a window-washer who climbs the corporate ladder with the help of his “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying” manual; Michele Lee played his Girl Friday. Morse and Lee took the stage with “Mad Men” creator and executive producer Matthew Weiner for a brief chat before the lights went down. As they watched the film with the audience, they must have been pleased to hear everyone laughing and applauding throughout the screening. After the show, I was taking photos of the Theatre when a man asked me to take a photo of him and his friends with my camera. One of his friends was Michele Lee; she was very gracious in accepting my compliments on her performance.